Love Letters
by SineTimore
Summary: A long day, a quiet evening, and words to remember.


**Disclaimer:** I have no paychecks from ABC, sadly.

**A/N:** Once again, many thanks to those of you who take the time to read my work and to offer your kind (or otherwise, I can take it) words. Also, let's all rejoice in the fact that there are just 48 more days until our premiere!

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The honeymoon certainly isn't over but things have quieted down a bit, settled into something of a routine, one that they both accept and enjoy. It's been four months since he professed his love, _again_, and Kate is grateful (and a bit shocked) that Rick hasn't pushed the issue. He's a bit better at it these days, not pushing. He knows what he has, what she's given him, and how fragile it can be. He's using everything he has in him to do this right.

He finds himself at her door unexpectedly on this evening. She just couldn't bring herself to make the trek to the loft after work. This day was _a day_. Rather than spending the night without her, he tells her that he can come to her place instead – invites himself to her place. She's not at all certain that she's prepared to handle his current level of eagerness. Will it be worth it in the end? _Probably_. Can she see the light at the end of that tunnel right now? _Not especially_.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate it, his enthusiasm for everything. She certainly hasn't had enough of that in her life for some time. But, she's still Kate and that means moods and space and "no" sometimes. Of course, if he keeps looking like that and sounding like that and touching like that and tasting like that, "no" is going to continue to be a very difficult word to keep in her ready vocabulary. She really does admire his passion. It's rarely hidden, never dull, and a nice balance to her more muted nature. Yin and Yang.

He gives her about an hour more of alone time as he wants to do a few things before making his way over. She uses the time wisely, taking a steaming hot shower, shaving her legs (always good to be prepared), sipping a glass of wine and speaking with her father by phone. Rick's arrival interrupts their 'speak with you soon' pleasantries and as she opens her door to his soft knock, all he catches is "I love you too". His eyes shoot to hers in confusion – he fails to notice the phone at her ear right away. Her "Bye, dad" quickly erases his bewilderment and, luckily for him, she doesn't notice his brief roller coaster of emotion. He'll carry this around all night, though, this fleeting moment of elation.

"Hi" he opens, placing a kiss on her cheek. She smells heavenly from her shower and her body still radiates warmth. She reciprocates his greeting, taking notice of his hands which hold bags of varying size and shape. "What's all of this, Castle?"

"Well, it sounded like you were having a tough day so I wanted to try and help." Offering a smile full of sincerity, he suddenly realizes that he's left something in the hallway. "Oh, wait, there's one more thing."

"Really, Castle? Looking at all of these bags, I'm wondering how there's anything left _anywhere_."

"Ha, ha, yes, funny. Hang on a sec." He steps outside and returns with a small bouquet of roses in hand. It's not extravagant. It's a quiet gesture. "These are for you. I thought they might make you smile. I do so love it when you smile. "

She takes the flowers from him and brings them to her face to absorb their perfect aroma. "Thank you, Castle. They're really beautiful." She steps towards him and thanks him with a kiss while he assures her that they're nowhere near as beautiful as she is. It makes her blush sometimes, his sincerity. Since that night that she came to him and offered herself, he hasn't held back. He's deeply immersed in the world where too much time has been wasted and days are too few. She knows this too, feels it. She just isn't used to living it so completely. "I'm gonna put these in a vase. Why don't you tell me what all of this other stuff is."

"Oh, right," he answers, "I was fairly certain that you wouldn't feel like making anything so I stopped and got us some dinner. I may have gone a bit overboard."

As he pulls the dining options from their respective bags and the tower of containers begins to take over the counter, Kate can't help but chuckle. "You? Overboard? Never, Castle." Her words drip with sarcasm. "But, tell me this, when's the rest of the precinct getting here?"

"Now, now, Detective, you know I only have food for you" he replies with a bat of his eyelashes. "Besides, I'm a growing boy. I need sustenance." He gives his body a once-over before returning his gaze to her smirking face.

"I think the only part of you that's still growing, Castle, is your ego."

"Well, you know what they say, big ego, large…"

"OOOkkkaaaay, so what are you feeding me?" she interrupts.

"You're right, Detective. It's better that I show you rather than tell you but we can get to dessert later."

They enjoy their meal at her dining table with a fire in the stove nearby. It's not particularly cold on this September night but the added ambiance that it creates doesn't go unappreciated. Neither of them is particularly chatty while they eat, she as a result of her exhausting day and he in appreciation of her unspoken but obvious need. He really has learned. Besides, he'd make an Olympic sport out of just watching her if she'd allow it.

His insistence on cleaning up after dinner earns him a most inappropriate kiss for any kitchen, which he returns with fervor before banishing her to the sofa to relax with another glass of wine. She doesn't have a television at her place and he's asked her on more than one occasion how she survives. Writer drama. Her time is better spent, she always answers, which inevitably leads to less clothing and more sweat. Her technology shortcomings aside, he enjoys spending time at her place without worry of interruption or distraction. It's peaceful and quiet and not at all what he's used to which, he's learning, isn't necessarily a bad thing.

She's tired but not _sleep_ tired and he's tossing out suggestions, and while she'd enjoy nothing more than to take him up on his offer to "fluff her pillows", she's feeling stuffed from dinner and in need of some recovery time. She tells him, however, that she reserves the right to request a pillow fluff later. When he looks down at his watch and realizes that it's not "later" yet, he proposes a game of Scrabble which she's happy to agree to. It'll distract him for a little while since he just adores any opportunity to show off his writer brain and it'll distract her from wanting to drag him into the bedroom without saying a word even though she can barely move right now. Problems solved.

She can't help but look across the game board at him and feel happiness. All of the years spent hidden behind a wall and not allowing it in and now here he is, with her, knowing all of it, accepting all of it. She's still scared but she's scared because she knows it's right, doesn't ever want to lose it. His hands are right - the hands that protect her in the face of all danger. His eyes are right - the eyes that say everything with no words. His mind is right - the mind that's open to any possibility. His body is right – the body that makes her feel more alive than she ever has. His heart is right – the heart that loved her even when she couldn't accept it.

His boisterous "ah ha!" rattles her from her thoughts and brings her back to the game. He's beyond proud of the word 'VICE' that he's just played. "Okay, seriously, I should get bonus points for relevance, no?"

"Any bonus points for relevance that I would have granted you just got wiped away by the points I deducted for you acting overly smug."

"You wound me, Detective. Well then, let's see what you've got, huh? I'll give you a hundred bucks if you can play a word more relevant than _that_."

She takes a moment as her eyes move from his self-satisfied face down to her available tiles and finally to the board. Then she sees it. Her entire body blushes and her heart begins to beat faster. She has to decide, now, if this is it, if she can do this. "I…"

"Come on, Beckett, a hundred bucks, are you in or are you out?"

She's made her choice. To be honest, she'd made it long ago. This _is_ it. "Sure, Writer Boy, I'm in. I'm all in."

She takes her time, of course, lets him stew a bit, wonder, anticipate. She moves the tiles around the rack, squinting her eyes, furrowing her brow, though she knows precisely what her move is. She can see that he's anxious as his leg begins to shake up and down and his body hovers over the table.

She removes just three tiles from the rack and she's almost certain that he believes he's got this sewn up. She's most grateful for his previous play, for his drop of the letter 'V'. She couldn't have done what she's about to do without it, without him, and she notes the irony. She places her 'L', 'O', and 'U' around his 'V' and looks up at him slowly. He stares at it and stares at it until he finally shouts "No way! Is that even English? I am _so_ challenging that! What….wait…Does that kinda say what I think it kinda says? I…Kate…"

"It kinda does. I do, Castle. I love you."

She watches as his facial expression turns from one of shock to one of complete joy. She knows it's right.

"God, Kate, for that you can have _all_ of my money."


End file.
